Its Mania. It’s the biggest show of the year. Its words about the biggest show of the year. Ye intae it? thats aw I’ve got tae ask ye ma man. Are ye intae it? Is Hulk Hogan gonnae be the hostess wae the mostest or is he gonnae slevver through everything he does and make the whole hing awkward as fuck? Whits Stone Cold gonnae be daein? will it be some backstage pish or is he gonnae stunner every cunt in that battle royal and win it for himself? Whits Brad Maddox gonnae be uptae, apart fae fillin jam jars wae the sweat he wrings oot his boxers? and last but not least, will we see CM Punk? Should we gie a fuck if we dae or no?
Aw these questions will be answered over the course of a 6 hour show. That’s right mate aye, 2 hour pre-show, 4 hour main card. 6 hours. 6 hours and we couldnae get a Cesaro vs Ziggler 60 minute iron man match in there somewhere. It’s a fuckin travesty.
“WE GOT US SOME ANNOUNCEMENTS JACK!”
“It’s Martin…ma name’s Martin”
“Alright brother, we got us a memorial rope trophy royal brother. 30 humans enter a bull pen, and the last man standing turns into Andre The Giant brother, yeah brother Jack”
“Whit you even on aboot?
“I dunno, I blacked out about 10 year ago and everything since has been confusion Jack!”
“Many times dae I huv tae tell ye, ma name’s Martin”
“Yeah brother. Like I told that chick I slayed in that porno movie I was in, if you not Jackin, then you aint my brother Jack! Brother Jack Jack brother, Hulkamaniacs”
“Mate you’re away wae it”
Paul Heyman. I see Paul Heyman. That’s Paul Heyman so it is.
RAW opened with a pipebomb promo, in Chicago, and the guy who delivered the words came oot tae CM Punks music. Surely they widnae dae that tae us? Surely they widnae dae that tae a crowd who had openly spoken of their desire tae hi-jack the show and disrupt it as much as possible until CM Punk appears. Surely fuckin no, thats just too cruel int it? or it wid be in a universe where I gied a fuck about CM Punk. Naw really, I dont. He’s been away for aboot a year now. and yees need tae just get over it. I don’t sit in ma spare room every night perfecting my lifesized clay mould of him ataw, and I most certainly dont huv his promos playin in the background whilst I stare intently at C(lay) M(ould) Punk and imagine he’s cuttin them on me. Naw. I dont care mate. You shouldnt either. WHY DID HE LEAVE ME THOUGH?
Heyman comes out tae a chorus of boos, cause this crowd clearly dont understand that Paul Heyman is their da. Button yer fuckin Punk chants and open yer ears. Heyman settles down in the middle of the ring wae the legs crossed, leaving us in nae doubt that he’s either trying hard tae imitate the Pipebomb promo, or he’s showin aff aw the extra flexibility he has since he started power pilates wae Brock.
He’s telling us a wee story about a Paul Heyman guy who they never really wanted. They didnae want him back then, and they dont want him now. His perseverance, and a magnificent balding man named Paul Heyman were his only allies. He’s Chicago born, Chicago raised, and still currently lives there today and his name is…..
It’s strange how a change of scenery can change yer perception on something eh. I remember a few months back when I first got back intae watching TNA, and I saw Hogan try tae steal the spotlight every fuckin week, chattin aw sorts of shite, gettin folk’s names wrang, forcing his bawjawed daughter on us and just generally ruining TNA from within. He didnae belong there. It’s as simple as that. TNA wis a company known for innovation, and being a viable alternative to the WWE. Never in danger of overtaking it in terms of market share, but a true alternative for wrestling fans. There’s nae space for a deluded auld cunt wae a misplaced sense of importance in a place like that, but in the WWE? Theres always a place. That’s why we’re gonnae continue tae see Triple H work dire WM matches when hes well intae his 50s, and fuds like Batista are tolerated. Cause the WWE is aw about makin that cash money ma man, and for aw his problems, and the current apathy a lot of wrestling fans have for the withered auld toad, he still sells t-shirts. His theme music could still pop any crowd in the world, and I don’t limit that tae wrestling either. Ye could play that fuckin thing at a Lionel Ritchie concert, n ye’d have middle aged wuman tying their blouses roon their heids and grilling youngsters aboot their vitamin and prayer intake. My point wae this wee ramble? Is there ever wan? Anyway, the point is. Hogan opened the show. Hogans theme opened the show, and whilst on the outside I kept the usual calm demeanour thats show me win numerous games of online checkers; on the inside I wis screamin like a wee lassie. A wee lassie who’d just been told she got tickets tae go n see The Singing Kettle no less! (or whitever the fuck weans are intae these days..Clifford The Big Rid Dug or suhin) Ye see when I wis a youngster, all I ever wanted tae be was Hulk Hogan. I thought that wis a real job. When Hulk retired, they’d be haudin vest ripping auditions for his successor. Me.
Imagine sitting doon tae preview a WWE PPV and ye find yersell with nothing but hope and a tingling in the testicles for it. A unique proposition tae say that least. Not that I anticipate this being any less arse bursting than most of the PPVs from the tail end of last year, but d’ye know whit? It has the Wyatts vs The Shield, and a wee chance that either Daniel Bryan or Antonio Cesaro could stroll oot wae aw the belts, so for those reason I’m gonnae allow that pure, unfiltered, rarefied optimism tae flow aw the way from ma chest pubes, right down tae ma ball fro.